Drunk
by fangirlbynight
Summary: In which Remus is drunk and Sirius makes some promises he finds very hard to keep.


**Summary: **In which Remus is drunk and Sirius makes some promises he finds very hard to keep.

**Dedication: **For notsoinnocentfangirl whom I love. 'Siriusly', she's awesome. And for tea, I suppose, because tea is awesome.

**Drunk**

"It's so late," Remus whispered. I could feel his hot breath on my neck and I shivered, pressing my body back into his subtly. Beside us James shushed him as we hurried along the deserted corridor. Various other voices hushed us as well from the portraits lining the looming halls. "I really don't think we should—" he began but James cut him off, pressing a cool bottle of Firewhiskey into his small hands.

"Just hush and drink it, Moony," he said hurriedly, whispering the password to the Fat Lady as he smuggled the rest of the bottles under his cloak. Peter giggled from somewhere behind us, already tipsy, following James inside. I pushed Remus in before quickly following, ensuring that no one was aware of our midnight excursion. Safe inside the deserted common room James flopped down onto the couch with a grin, opening his cloak to reveal the other bottles of Firewhiskey. "Here, Pete," he said, tossing one to the small, pudgy boy who settled himself onto the floor and twisted the cap a little too eagerly. He'd be passed out soon, I thought, as I settled myself in the plush armchair, bottle in hand.

"Sirius, I—" Remus began, small hands fingering the cap of his bottle nervously.

"Hush, Rem," I said, taking the bottle and ridding it of its cap for him. "Just drink. We're celebrating your birthday, just relax."

"Yeah, Moony, you're too stressed anyway," James said, half his bottle already gone. I took a gulp of mine and settled into the chair, the warm burn seeping down my throat. James sighed contentedly and Peter made a noise of agreement. Remus finally sat halfway on my lap, sharing the armchair with me, and lifted the bottle to his lips. Perfect pink lips closed around the neck and I sighed with want.

"Relax, Moony," I said. "Just relax and drink." So he did, warm thigh pressing against mine. I lifted my bottle again.

* * *

"I'm so drunk," Remus giggled, tipping back his fifth bottle. I kept my arm around his shoulders protectively. The Firewhiskey sloshed in his bottle, sickening me now, making me wish we had never given him any.

"I know, Moony," I said quietly. Peter snored loudly from beside the fireplace and James had long ago staggered up to bed, mumbling at me to take care of Remus. Of course I would take care of Remus, when had I not? Then I remembered and I stole Remus' bottle for a quick, thought-stealing, gulp.

"I love Firewhiskey. You want another one, Padfoot?" he mumbled happily, words still surprisingly clear for his inebriation.

"No, Moony. I don't want any more," I said. I had stopped drinking after the first bottle, concentrating more on making sure Remus didn't make himself sick. "Moony, I think you've had enough." The bottles were littered around us and around Peter.

"But I like it so much," he protested as I gently pried the now-empty bottle from his fingers. He let me take it easily enough, bouncing slightly in my lap.

"I know you do, but we'll just talk instead," I said, wrapping my arm around him again. He was silent for a few minutes and I wondered if he had gone to sleep. Then he turned to face me with a smile on his lips. I was confused until he spoke, voice different.

"Kiss me instead," he said, words slurring now. My eyes widened and I leant back, away from him.

"Moony, you're drunk," I said, hating myself even as I said the words. I wanted it so much, I wanted to give in. But I couldn't do that, not to my precious Moony. My Moony who was so drunk he didn't know which way was left. It would be taking advantage of him if I were to give in.

"I'm not so drunk. I want you to kiss me," he insists, rising over me, eyes shining. His thin fingers brushed along my jaw, which clenched.

"Moony, please," I begged as his hot breath blew over my neck. I shuddered and gripped the arms of the chair. "Please, don't."

"Aren't I pretty?" he asked, standing back and gazing at me with blurred eyes. I shrunk back, avoiding looking at the hurt in his eyes. I had seen it far too many times, mostly when I was the cause of his pain. "Am I ugly?" he whispered, voice cracking.

"No, Moony," I whispered. "You're pretty. So pretty." He leaned forward again and I closed my eyes. His lips brushed mine and I flew up, crossing the room in three desperate strides. "I can't Moony, I can't," I said sorrowfully, my whole body shaking.

"I thought you said I was pretty," he mumbled, staring at his hands, slumped on the floor, leaning against the chair.

"But I can't kiss you. Not while you're drunk," I said. "I'm sorry Moony." And with that I was gone, leaving him forlorn on the floor with only an unconscious Peter for company.

* * *

"Sirius," someone said. I turned around to greet Remus, happy to see him even though my chest constricted painfully. "You owe me something," he said when he got to me. He held a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. I dreaded that he would ask me to write an essay.

"Oh?" I grinned, scooting over in the armchair to give him room. But his knees slid around me until he sat on my lap, knees and thighs squeezing my legs, hands fisted in my shirt. "R-Remus," I gasped, clutching the arms of the chair, surprised at his boldness, especially during the day in the common room.

"You said you couldn't kiss me while I was drunk. I'm not drunk, Sirius," he grinned. I gulped and my mind grew hazy. "All I've had to drink is tea. See? Tea," he grinned, taking a sip to prove his point. "My breath doesn't even smell of alcohol, does it?" he asked, mouth beside my face. I inhaled dizzily, already getting drunk off the smell of him – parchment and tea – my heart pounding. My body tingled beneath his and I knew my cheeks were flushed. But all I knew was his shining eyes, his lips so close to mine, and the scent of tea that was everywhere.

"No, it smells like tea," I clarified, words foggy. "I bet you taste like tea," I mumbled, my mind not working so well now. Tentatively I let my tongue slide between my lips to gently lick his full lower lip. Warm fingers crept under my shirt and soft lips pushed insistently against mine. When his tongue licked my teeth I pulled back with a shuddering gasp, my whole body trembling as I held back. Wrong, so wrong, my mind screamed. You can't do this to him. But he wants it, I thought giddily, finally realizing.

"Am I still pretty?" he asks. My hands tighten around his waist possessively and I pull him closer, our bodies flush together. His cheeks are pink now and his lips are red and bruised but curved into a brilliant smile. His hands clench in my shirt, demanding a response even though the answer is obvious.

"So pretty," I breathe, my eyes fluttering closed as my tongue searches for the traces of tea once more.


End file.
